


in the poppy fields, we tasted the forbidden fruit

by crinkledpages



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, M/M, Moon and Death God!Wonwoo, Non-Explicit Sexual Content, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Slight Junhui/Minghao, Temple Keeper!Junhui
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25205080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crinkledpages/pseuds/crinkledpages
Summary: Junhui is a Keeper at the temple of Wonwoo, the beautiful god of moon and death. He's just a mere keeper of the grounds, bound to serve his entire life. But he's also his own person – impulsive and strong-headed, and that doesn't go unnoticed by Wonwoo at all. Far from it, in fact.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Comments: 40
Kudos: 150
Collections: You Made My Summer Fest





	in the poppy fields, we tasted the forbidden fruit

**Author's Note:**

> For **You Made My Summer** Prompt #179: Junhui lives and works at a temple of Wonwoo, the deity of moon and death, and while cleaning the marble statue of Wonwoo, Junhui is struck with the overwhelming desire to plant a kiss on Wonwoo’s cold, marble lips.
> 
> I played around with the prompt a little, and I hope that you, dear prompter, whoever you are, likes it!
> 
> To everyone else, here's Greek mythology-inspired Wonhui:) Hope you like it too!

Junhui watches attentively as the table is piled full with votive offerings for the temple’s deity. Sweet, juicy persimmons, soft sticky buns, dried meat, and pitchers of red wine and ginseng. All of Wonwoo’s favourites.

He himself is used to a meal of two bread buns dipped in clear soup, finished off with a glass of water. For his simple life, even a glance or a pinch of greed feels like sin. 

The food will be cleared before the next morning’s patrons arrive, taken away to the back to be burned as offerings. It’s really such a waste, but it can’t be helped really. What the gods demand, the gods will have. 

Really such an awful waste. 

The patrons trickle out, and Junhui moves. Slick and quick, his hand darts out, long fingers latching onto one persimmon and one bun. 

He bites into the persimmon, and it’s sinfully sweet. The juices leave a sticky trail down the length of his hand, but Junhui’s never bothered much about mess. Simply laps it up before tearing back into the fruit. More juice drips down his chin and hand. More obscene kitten licks. 

His Keeper’s dark brown robes ripple lightly about him as he strolls along the cloisters. They’re in the height of spring, and Junhui always finds himself taking to the outdoors during these months when the air is especially cooler and fresher. 

When he passes Wonwoo’s temple, he salutes the god’s statue inside with a wave of a bun-filled palm and a grin. 

His life-sized marbled sculpture stands erect deep in the _cella_ , but the pillars have tiny block-shaped windows for air and light to penetrate, arranged in such a way that the sunlight will always pierce through the gaps to form a lovely ball of light atop Wonwoo’s statue. 

Wonwoo is always bathed in both the light of the sun and the moon – a sure sign that he is a beacon of beauty to even the sun god, Jeonghan. 

Does Wonwoo look down on him in the same golden light too? Do those calm eyes ever become clouded with irrational jealousy and favouritism?

Junhui wants to know the answer to this question so, so badly. 

Wonwoo as a god is an enigma to even his truest servant, the High Priest.

The god of the moon and death is just, virtuous, and gentle. The High Priest, the people’s chosen messenger of Wonwoo’s temple, says so. As their people’s Speaker, he is the only one who can speak the god’s wishes and commands into existence on the mortal plane. 

Not any one of the other Keepers, who tend to the temple’s flames, or sculpt the gardens into works of art, or gather in the sanctuary under the darkness of every new moon, throwing off their robes to dance and eat and offer up food to celebrate the night when Wonwoo’s power is at its greatest.

Only the High Priest.

But Junhui’s read the scrolls in their library, finding those same words printed verbatim in there. So maybe even the people at the highest echelons don’t know anything about their gods either, whatever they may say.

Junhui resents this. He resents everything about his position as a Keeper, save for one thing – that he gets to be near Wonwoo, and that Wonwoo has to watch over him, as one of his own. 

He’s never fancied himself a priest, let alone a High Priest, but he has wondered what it would feel like to run his mouth with impunity about Wonwoo’s silky locks and his obsidian eyes that glitters silver under the moon, rife with mischief.

Junhui would like that a whole lot. 

Whenever people speak of Wonwoo, it is always done in hushed tones, half of which are reverent, and the other, fear, as with most people when they don’t know much about who they’re praying to. 

The doors to Wonwoo’s chambers remain open in the day - welcoming anyone into his presence. If Junhui didn’t know better, he’d say that this is because Wonwoo is a loving and benevolent god, just like all the songs sing.

But the thing is, he does know better. 

It’s the High Priest who opens the doors for the patrons, not by Wonwoo’s command. _Wonwoo isn’t like that, doesn’t want, doesn’t like…_

He finds the half-eaten fruit crushed in his hand when he raises it to his mouth. He stares down at the colourless juice coating his hand, gaze blank. He’s not hungry anymore.

***

“Is this okay?” Junhui nibbles softly on Minghao’s ear, relishing in the quiet whimper escaping his lips.

“Y-yeah.” Minghao has only received no more than a grand total of five kisses, but his mouth is already slightly swollen, a faint blush streaking his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Junhui’s robes are scrunched up in Minghao’s hands, and he’s thankful that they’re thick enough that they won’t crease so easily. He gives Minghao a few more light pecks and then pulls back. 

Minghao’s first kiss. And Junhui had taken it from him. His reactions are so pure, and he has the urge to dive in and nip at those pink lips again. Maybe bite his neck, but he can’t – it would be too obvious.

It’s a little chilly, and the cold seeps into their tiny shared bedroom. Junhui can feel his shoulders shudder under his fingers, so he manoeuvres both of them out of their stuffy robes and into his bed, leaving them in their characteristic Keeper underclothes – white linen long-sleeved shirts and a matching pair of white linen pants. 

Minghao cuddles up to him, throwing a leg over his own, pushing his head into his neck. His toes are as cold as icicles when they shift to nestle into warmth. Junhui hisses but lets him worm into his space nonetheless, wrapping a firm arm around his waist and pulling the covers over them.

Minghao may only be a year younger, but he looks at Junhui as if he had hung the moon and stars. Junhui doesn’t want to shatter that. Minghao is so preciously sweet, still possessing that little bit of naivety despite his age that makes Junhui want to take care of him. He gives a familial squeeze at the soft, fleshy skin at his waist.

“Comfy?”

Minghao breathes out a sigh, which Junhui takes as a yes. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs into his neck. 

Junhui smiles, unable to resist pressing a kiss into his hair. He hopes he’ll be forgiven.

“Junhui?” Minghao whispers.

“Hmm?”

“I know you really love it here, but have you ever thought of leaving the temple? Even just once?”

Maybe the kiss had spun some kind of spell on him, creating a newfound space where unbidden thoughts were suddenly permitted to be shared, and illicit questions asked.

He leaves Minghao hanging for a beat or two, choosing his next words carefully.

“This is all I’ve ever known,” he answers honestly, and yet he’s not really answering him. “Have you?”

“I don’t know…I have wondered…but only wondered. Never dreamed, or…dared to dream.” His words trail off slightly at the end, but in the quiet of the dark room, Junhui hears it as loudly as a thunderstorm.

“Many feel a little lost after serving for more than half their lives, it’s not uncommon to feel like that every now and then,” Junhui says, hoping that this will be enough for him to drop the topic before they move into more dangerous territory. 

“I know. It’s just. What could be out there for me, when I’ve spent my whole life here? Is it really as wild and exciting as we’ve heard? Could I be good at anything outside of these walls?”

Junhui doesn’t know the answer either. He’s thought about it often too, about what it would be like to live as someone ordinary – ordinary in the sense that no one would look at him and bow their heads, and where he could make his own living, under his own rules. As a Keeper, his whole life and routine had already been laid out for him from day one.

Junhui doesn’t remember ever living outside of the temple, even though he knows he’d only arrived at their doorstep when he was four. But everything before that is behind a white fog in his memories. Like Minghao, he really has been here for as long as he can remember.

“I don't know what's out there, but I think you’d be okay. Like everyone else. But I mean, we wouldn’t ever really know, would we?” Junhui doesn’t want to encourage anything, but he senses that Minghao needs to hear something positive, so he tries to pour as much confidence as he can into his voice. 

Because it’s mostly a lie.

What skills did Keepers have, apart from being able to read the stars, and understand the nature of plants to fashion poultices for healing? They were good at telling stories too, but what good were any of these outside? 

Inside the walls, these were mysterious gifts to be revered. Outside, they were gifts to be feared and destroyed.

He knows that Minghao knows this all too well too. He can see it in the droop of his eyes and the slouch of his shoulders – defeated before he can really begin to fight.

“Some Keepers have left, before. I’ve heard one or two stories. So it’s not impossible, right?”

There’s a rule that anyone bound to servitude isn’t allowed to leave the temples, ever. Over the years, they have heard word of some leaving without seemingly any punishment, but Junhui can’t be sure, and he certainly doesn’t want Minghao to test it.

“Why do you want to leave anyway?” A part of him really wants to just sleep, but this new invisible connection looms over them, and he feels guilt tug at his chest at this part that wants to burn every single traitorous word that falls from their lips.

“It’s not about wanting to leave. I just want to know if there’s something better than this. Do the gods even hear us? Is Wonwoo listening to us when we pray to them? When we make offerings in their name? Is Wonwoo even real?”

 _Stop, Minghao, stop!_ Junhui wants to cover his mouth before more blasphemes escape from it.

“I…” He flicks his eyes to the window out of habit, but the night is as black as ever, with not even the moonlight filtering in. How to answer with as much surety as he has, without making it seem like he’s just repeating the words of the High Priest?

“Well, look at it this way, haven’t our temples withstood the test of time? This temple is nearly a thousand years old, isn’t it? And yet it hasn’t been burned down once. You can see how much our city has changed outside, but here, we’ve managed to keep the flames burning, and our rituals alive. That should count for something real, right?”

Minghao sits up properly. 

“You really believe that they exist, don’t you?” Minghao asks, as if he’s truly seeing Junhui for how he is, and not liking it. They’re still tangled up in each other, but there’s a palpable distance now. 

Junhui wants to reach out and hold his hands, tell him he’s still the Junhui who picked him up when he fell while climbing the stairs to Wonwoo’s temple for the first time, the same Junhui who snuck extra rations to him during that one winter when the fields had yielded less crops that season.

“I…I guess I do. I just. I can feel it, you know? When I pray, or when I enter his temple and see his statue and when I breathe I can smell dew and figs and feel warmth and I know there’s someone looking out for me. And when I see how the people who pray and give offerings have their prayers answered…it’s just hard not to believe that the gods are real.”

He can’t tell him about the other thing. That he’s seen this power unfold, seen him, been by his side. Touched him, felt the heavenly power thrumming under his skin. So he has to settle for sounding like any other devout Keeper. Ridiculously fervent in their groundless beliefs. 

“I guess you’re right…” Minghao’s face mirrors his own when the High Priest boasts about the ancient traditions they keep every Sunday, and Junhui knows that there’s no saving this.

“I try to look at it like that, sometimes,” he tries again. “And me being here made it possible for me to meet you. It’s stuff like this that keeps me grounded, you know?” 

“Thanks, Hui.” Minghao’s eyes are back to that soft, gentle gaze once more, and Junhui’s heart unclenches, but the guilt deepens.

“I’m always here for you, you know that right?”

“I know,” Minghao’s voice is whispery soft too, that same voice that he seems to reserve for Junhui only, so Junhui gifts him one more kiss to his hair before tucking his chin over Minghao’s head, drifting off to sleep. “Love you, Hui.”

When he dreams, he dreams of kissing a boy in the dark, on his bed, but it’s not Minghao. He dreams of stepping out of the temple walls, but it’s not with Minghao, and it’s not because he wants to leave the only home he’s ever known. No, it’s because he’s following after a figure with obsidian black eyes, and a halo of misty moonlight about his head.

***

Junhui has been here for as long as he can remember, and every keeper’s devotion to Wonwoo is about as strong as his. Maybe everyone save for Minghao, that is.

When night falls, the silence in the sanctuary casts an eerie, tinny ring around the empty colonnades. In the open, hallowed halls, there are no windows to be shuttered. Numerous facades make up the larger composition of the temple’s sanctuary – the ones housing the keepers’, priests’ and priestesses’ quarters, the patron halls, the gardens, and finally, the main temple where Wonwoo’s statue is erected. 

The other keepers have turned in for the night, having finished washing the bowls and sweeping the floor free of stray dead leaves. They’ve missed a few, and these ones flutter about the ground listlessly, carried only by the light breeze. 

Junhui collects as many as he can, gathering them into the billows of his robes and depositing them into a cloth bag in the patron hall. They’ll be burned and used as compost for the gardens; everything here, even the tiniest leaf, is considered sacred. 

When he’s done, there’s nothing left to idle away the night. 

Only one place to go. 

His heart beats a little faster with each step he takes up the glistening marbled stairs. He usually sits in front of Wonwoo’s statue on nights when he can’t sleep, just basking in his presence, sometimes humming a song or two or talking about his day as he lies on the cold ground, head propped up with an arm to look up at him. 

Junhui peeks a head into Wonwoo’s temple. The doors are closed now, but Junhui has learnt over time how to make himself small enough to squeeze through a gap so tiny so as to not risk alerting any of the others. 

The fires wave merrily from their post on the columns. The floor is bereft of dust, dirt, or stains. As it should be.

Sculpted twin chariots each pulled by two winged, long-maned horses stand sentinel at the doors to the _cella_ where Wonwoo’s grand statue stands. The flames from the columns of fire-pits lining the main hall flicker over the horses, giving an impression that they’ve come alive. 

Junhui pats one of them as he passes, feet light as he traverses the distance to the other end of the cella. When he’s reached Wonwoo’s marbled statue, he realises that a wreath of white poppies has been laid at his feet. These were one of the many flowers that patrons left for Wonwoo, because of their strong symbolisms of death. He bends to pick it up. 

When he straightens, he’s at eye level with Wonwoo's statue. His marbled statue is perfectly free of dirt, but he reaches for the dust cloth that hangs over the belt of his robes anyway, brushing off invisible dust over Wonwoo’s hair, face, and shoulders. “There,” he murmurs. “You’re clean now.”

He places the poppy wreath on Wonwoo’s head. “All beautiful now, too.”

He looks into Wonwoo’s white irises as he whispers this. His features are handsome, like every god’s. No one would ever sculpt an ugly god. And yet, Junhui knows that Wonwoo is every bit as handsome as the poems sing. 

His hands, having pocketed the cloth once more, come up to rest on Wonwoo’s hair. If anyone else were here, his hands would be slapped, and he’d be severely disciplined for daring to touch him with bare hands, never mind that this was just a mere statue.

It’s solid marble, carved from a single stone. He pretends that he’s brushing back dark strands of hair instead of hardened stone, just for a minute. 

The eyes that stare back at him are lifeless, yet he feels a magnetic pull to them; he can’t look away. Wonwoo is the god of the moon, and in his hour, when the beams of moonlight fall like gossamer on his head, he is beautiful. Even in this marbled likeness, he is beautiful. 

He thinks back to what the High Priest had said again earlier this morning, about him being Wonwoo's messenger, and how no one else would be able to speak to Wonwoo but him. 

No one else? Ha.

“The High Priest doesn’t know shit,” he mutters angrily. 

Wonwoo is so beautiful, and it’s unfair that anyone thinks they can just lay claim to his commands. A bout of possessiveness grips him, and a wild idea springs forth.

_Would he...would he mind if I just..._

Junhui tips his head forward, fingers pressing hard into his sculpted head. And then he’s leaning closer, closer, closer, until he’s taking those stone-cold lips into his.

Too late to turn back now. 

He fits his lips over the statue’s Cupid’s bow, granules of marble brushing against his mouth. It’s hard and a little uncomfortable, but he presses one more kiss to the corner of those cold lips.

The effect is almost instantaneous, like an angry bolt of lightning striking down from Mount Olympus. 

A low growl rumbles out into a hollow echo. Shadows shift on the walls behind Wonwoo in shapeless forms. The horses seem to have moved closer, and one of them even whinnies and neighs, high-pitched.

He steps back, and when his foot meets the marbled floor, the sound too bounces off the walls. Junhui just keeps his eyes steady on Wonwoo’s statue, even though his breathing is becoming increasingly ragged. 

A cold wind shrieks past his ear. It sounds as eerie as one of the Furies, but he knows it isn’t. It’s just the deathly chill that accompanies its god as he crosses over into the land of the living. 

A sudden terror slithers around his heart and squeezes hard. Junhui can’t help it, even though he’s expecting this. It’s the effect that a god has on anyone. 

“Junhui.” The voice is deep, and it wraps around the chamber. The terror falls away at the silky, warm voice. 

Junhui was never in any real danger, after all. 

“Wonwoo,” he breathes, turning around to face his god in the flesh. 

The specks in his eyes are a muted silver in the shadows, and his inky black hair falls over his forehead in soft curls. A soft black skirt is wrapped around his waist, but he is naked from the waist up. 

Junhui itches to touch touch _touch_. 

“High Priest doesn’t know shit?” Wonwoo repeats, eyebrows quirked up in amusement. 

“Knows fuck all,” Junhui confirms easily, fears allayed now through his gentle voice. 

“That was extremely impudent, kissing my statue. I should have you flayed.” 

“You should. But would you?” He eyes Wonwoo hungrily, and he can see that same desire reflected in Wonwoo’s eyes. 

And then Wonwoo is surging forward, pulling Junhui into a deep kiss.

***

The god of the moon and death is jealous, possessive, and short-tempered. Junhui says so. Because he knows so. 

That’s not to say he isn’t any of the other things whispered about him, but in fact, Wonwoo really isn’t. 

“You kissed Minghao here, the other day,” he accuses. “You shameless little thing.” Wonwoo pinches his side, and Junhui attempts to wriggle out of his way. 

“He wanted to know what his first kiss would be like!” Junhui yells, dodging another hand shooting too close, but it’s hard when he’s in the water, robes partially soaked through and pulling him down with it. 

They’re in the temple’s crystal pools, where the priestesses come to bathe in on occasion. It’s always locked, and only the priestesses hold the key. 

Wonwoo doesn’t need one to enter, of course. 

The blue waters glimmer about them, twisting and glinting golden from the row of fire-pits lining the little secluded cave. No one would see or hear them here. 

“You’re going to get your robes all wet,” Wonwoo teases, jabbing his arm out again to land a strike anywhere. He’s discarded his own skirt, baring himself fully to Junhui. 

Junhui tries to keep his eyes up, even though he’s seen Wonwoo naked in both art and in person too many times that he shouldn’t be shy. But he finds that he still is, painfully so. 

“Then stop attacking me!”

“Stop kissing Minghao.”

“It was just two occasions!” 

“Really?” A wave of Wonwoo’s hand, and a mid-sized tsunami crashes over Junhui, sending him rolling backwards and underwater. 

Junhui yells and comes up sputtering, forcing himself to swim out of his oversized robes, leaving him in a thin white shirt and linen pants. The room is sealed off, but a cold breeze picks up nonetheless, sending Junhui into little tremors. He scowls at Wonwoo. 

“I don’t think Minghao sees it the same way,” Wonwoo continues. 

Junhui secretly agrees, but doesn’t verbalise it. 

Wonwoo beckons to the water, and the water tumbles Junhui forward gently into his chest, warm arms coming up and around to hug him. Gods, does he love the feel of Wonwoo around him. 

They settle themselves into their usual position – Junhui’s back to Wonwoo‘s chest on a large step in the shallowest part of the pool. Blue water laps up to their chins. Junhui loves the sound of the water around his ears – whispering a litany of shhs that don’t really say anything at all, but it’s still comforting nonetheless. 

“I only have eyes for you,” he murmurs urgently. “Just you.”

Silence descends. The water sloshes over them and pulls back just as quickly. It’s warm, and Junhui sinks his body further, low enough that his mouth can blow up a stream of bubbles. 

“I know,” Wonwoo finally breaks the quiet. 

He slips a hand under Junhui’s shirt, brushing a thumb across his pelvic bone. Junhui’s stomach caves in at the touch, and each swipe of fingers against skin is pure sin. Total degradation. 

Junhui rolls his body into an arch. Wonwoo’s fingers dip past his waistband.

“You shouldn’t steal the patrons’ offerings.” His palm is resting flat on his thigh. 

“We’re never fed enough,” he whines. 

“Why don’t you steal from the kitchens, if you’re going to steal at all.” Wonwoo muses thoughtfully, perhaps more to himself than Junhui.

“It’s hard. They’ve got eyes behind their heads.” Junhui rests his head back against Wonwoo’s shoulder.

Wonwoo pinches his inner thigh hard, and Junhui squirms. “Ow!” 

“I don’t see any other Keeper stealing food. You should make do with what you have.” Junhui can sense that he’s only half-serious, and he’s not sure whether he’s truly bothered and he’s holding back because it’s Junhui, or because he thinks he should lecture him for the sake of it. 

“I would, if I didn’t have so much to do in a day. I need proper sustenance.” He wrestles out of Wonwoo‘s hold so that he can face him, even though he misses his touch immediately. But both of Wonwoo’s hands come up to grip his hips as he settles into his lap anyway. 

“Besides, isn’t it better to steal from the patrons than from the kitchens?” The beginnings of a sly grin works its way onto his mouth. He can tell from Wonwoo’s face that he’s steeling himself for a brazen answer. 

“Why?” Wonwoo tips his chin up to look at the petulant boy above him. 

“Because. If I steal from the patrons, I’m really only stealing from you. Which I thought was much better than stealing from the kitchens, whose produce is paid for by the taxpayers.”

Wonwoo growls, fisting a hand in Junhui’s hair, pulling back hard to expose his throat. “Such. A. Brat.” He bites down on his neck, hard enough that Junhui thinks he might have just drawn blood. All thoughts of being with anyone else, with Minghao, vanish.

“Ah, Wonwoo! Wonwoo!” He scrabbles his fingers on Wonwoo’s shoulders, pushing him away, maybe pulling him closer, he doesn’t know which. But Wonwoo’s got an iron grip on his hair and one around his waist, and he can’t pull away anyhow. 

Wonwoo moves to another spot on his neck and sucks a punishingly dark bruise there, marking him for himself and no other. Junhui screams at the pleasure blooming in the bottom of his stomach and wracking his entire body. 

“Tell me, how else should I punish you? You stole from me, tainted my statue, kissed another...crimes worthy of more than just these two marks.” His eyes are even blacker with dark intent.

“I don’t know,” Junhui moans into the crook of Wonwoo’s neck. “Anything, anything, just...please!”

Junhui is always only honest with Wonwoo.

“Please, what?” He asks, voice mockingly innocent.

“Touch me, anything!” He doesn’t care what he’s asking, as long as Wonwoo gives him the touch he’s been craving ever since he stepped foot in the mortal realm. 

Wonwoo indulges him. Presses a faint kiss to his shoulder, drawing him into his arms again. Then he kisses him on the lips, sliding his tongue in while his hands tug impatiently on the wet underclothes that cling to him like a second skin. 

Junhui’s heart beats wildly like the wings of a hummingbird as he falls to pieces under Wonwoo’s ministrations.

***

Sometimes, Wonwoo prefers to bathe under the moonlight, in one of the lakes deeply ensconced in the nearby forest. Tonight is one of those times.

Shimmering silver irises in the black night. Beams of moonlight cascading onto pale skin. Junhui falls in love all over again. 

There’s nothing much that can compare to these moments, when time flows as quickly or as slowly as glaciers, with only each other for company. 

They’ve both taken their clothes off, bodies dipped fully in the cool water, both of them floating aimlessly around. The lake is shallow enough that they can stand comfortably with just their heads bobbing above the surface. 

Wonwoo likes it like this – where he can feel the cold prickle his human skin and the chill leaving goosebumps on his flesh – sensations that are dulled in the Underworld.

Junhui doesn’t, but he wants Wonwoo to enjoy his time here, so he doesn’t press him to turn the water to at least a lukewarm temperature. It also gives him a reason to coil himself like a snake around Wonwoo.

“One patron prayed for me to give him back his land,” Wonwoo murmurs, tracing a watery circle around Junhui’s nape. 

“The Kwons?” Junhui had overhead them.

“Mmm.”

“Well, are you going to answer their prayer?” Junhui cups his hands into the water, sipping droplets of the water. It’s sweet. 

Wonwoo turns his head to the side so he can kiss him, drinking the water from his mouth too. Junhui moans, brushing his tongue against Wonwoo’s parted lips. 

“No,” he answers once he’s kissed Junhui another two more times.

“Why not?” Junhui remembers that Soonyoung’s father had looked so stricken with desperation yesterday when he’d fallen to his knees at the votive tables. 

“Their ancestors murdered for that land. It is not theirs, not really.”

“But _they_ didn’t murder.”

“Sins of the father...” Junhui completes the sentence in his head. His mouth twists in disagreement, and his eyebrows furrow. 

“But, Wonwoo –”

Wonwoo presses another kiss to his mouth, cutting him off. “I’m the god of death too, Junhui. Their ancestors’ souls are drowning in the River Styx, and they will have to join them, soon. By the end of Spring, I will come to collect the elders’ souls. It has always been this way for their family.”

He feels warm hands slide around his stomach, pulling him even closer. Wonwoo rests his head against Junhui’s nape, sucking light marks onto the skin there. Junhui sighs, letting his body relax in his arms, letting himself just _be_. 

He plays with Wonwoo’s fingers at his stomach, noting how there’s a slight shimmer to his pale skin. 

“And what about Soonyoung?” He exhales shakily. Soonyoung had been such a good friend to them, always sharing his toys with them when he’d come by the temple, always giving more time and food to the temple when his family could spare it.

“His time will come too, but not yet.”

“Does it have to be in the Spring?”

“Spring,” Wonwoo says with finality. He leans forward to trail his teeth lightly along Junhui’s shoulder, kissing him behind the ear. 

Junhui sinks into his touch, closing his eyes and submitting himself to those lovely cold lips against his skin so that he can forget how useless he is in the grand scheme of things, even for just a moment. 

He concentrates on the desperate need to touch Wonwoo, and how good it feels when their fingers are intertwined. He turns around so that they’re facing each other now, and up close he can see the tiny specks of silver glitter with incandescent light.

Wonwoo’s body in the flesh is a heavenly sight. _Is this desecration, when I reach out to brush my fingers against a pale shoulder, kiss those lips stained a cherry red?_

“You’re so beautiful. These hands weren’t made to sweep porticoes and tend to the flames.” Wonwoo echoes Junhui’s own thoughts back to him, rubbing his thumb across the rough planes of Junhui’s hands, tracing odd patterns onto the skin. 

“I’m happy where I am,” Junhui pulls one hand away to observe his fingers, calloused from years of burning offerings and labouring in the gardens.

“You don’t want to be a priest-in-training?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to serve you in that way. It’s just not something that fits me. As a Keeper, I get to walk around more, visit the markets outside occasionally, talk to the people. I get to be freer, you know?” He hadn’t missed Wonwoo’s hidden question. 

“Free. Yes, I think I understand.” Not subjected to serve, all the time. In a way, Wonwoo is a servant to his people too, and to the souls lost to the Underworld. 

Junhui curls his arms around Wonwoo’s neck, scooting into his space. He bumps his forehead gently against Wonwoo’s and kisses his nose. Then he kisses his eyes, and then kisses his lips again.

"Where would you go, if you could go anywhere at all in the world?" He asks Wonwoo.

"Athens," he answers immediately.

Junhui leans back a little in surprise. "Why?"

"Because it's where I feel the most at home," he says simply. But Wonwoo's true home is in the Underworld, where he isn't able to leave often, because he's bound to the place, just as much as Junhui is bound to the temple. He wishes that they could just whisk themselves away from here, disappear and truly live, but it's a wild, impossible idea.

"I'm sorry."

“What are you apologising for?” 

He tucks his nose into Wonwoo’s ear. “Nothing.” Everything. 

“You have nothing to apologise for, Junhui, love.” 

“Not even for this? For us? I’m not even supposed to be with you like this.” 

“Is that you talking, or the High Priest?” A layer of danger slides onto his voice.

“Wonwoo,” he groans in exasperation.

“Junhui,” he returns, but it’s calm and level in comparison.

“I’m just saying that you’re a _god_ , and this is…this is…I’m –”

A nobody who’s defiling, tainting you? He isn’t sure which word to use, but none of them sound good when spoken.

“Junhui. I came to you first. This _god_ chose you.”

“But I let you in!” He cries. Maybe if he was stronger, he would have resisted him. But he wasn’t. 

Wonwoo’s eyes are truly blown black now, no silver to temper the darkness building.

“So you’re saying I forced you into this?”

“I didn’t say that.” He tightens his arms around his neck briefly, amplifying his answer.

“I heard you that night. When Minghao told you that he’s considering leaving the temple. And you hinted at thinking the same.”

Now it’s his blood that runs cold. Junhui drops his hands quickly from around Wonwoo’s neck, widening the distance between them so he can look at him properly. 

“Wonwoo, we were just talking. Minghao knows he can’t fend for himself outside, and I wouldn’t ever –”

“But you’ve thought about it,” Wonwoo says easily, the dark clouds swirling in his eyes erupting into black flames.

“I’ve only wondered! It’s not a crime to think about stuff like this, is it?”

“You were encouraging him.”

“Only because he needed some sort of support! He’s feeling lost and confused, but he hasn’t done anything.” Junhui lets a tiny plea slip in, because this is Minghao they’re talking about. Minghao, who’s his little brother in everything but flesh and blood.

“Yet. You sound very concerned for him, more than I’ve seen you with anyone else.”

“He’s my friend,” Junhui spits out. He’s almost freezing now; the water has turned colder to match Wonwoo’s flashing temper. He rubs his hands over his bare chest and arms, but it’s futile when he’s waist-deep in the middle of the lake, nowhere to really go.

“He is also my Keeper,” Wonwoo points out. “He pledged to serve me for all of his human life, as did you.”

“And we have. We were just _talking_. He just needs some guidance, or some sign that the gods are listening. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? You just let the High Priest decide what’s best for your people, even if that’s not really what you want. You don’t want to listen to your patrons, you don’t want to act like someone with responsibility. You just want to bathe in lakes and take human lovers.” Junhui is treading on thin ice, but he throws all caution to the wind, because he’s fed-up with all of this childishness, wants Wonwoo to see how selfish he is.

“You don’t know anything about what it means to be in my position. And Minghao is one of my Keepers. It is well within my rights to be concerned if my Keepers are inclined to leave. They are taught to be duty-bound their entire lives. You know this, you recited the ritual yourself,” Wonwoo growls out, shoulders shaking with fury.

“At the age of _four_.” Junhui’s voice is full of bitterness, even though he’s never felt resentment at consigning himself to this life ever. But he’s angry and so he throws that at Wonwoo’s face too. 

“I don’t remember you ever having an issue with this before.”

“And I don’t remember hearing you talk about the severity of it all when old man Hong left and started a family. The High Priest didn’t stop him. He has a son now, too, and they both go to your temple every week to give offerings from their fields. Isn’t that still considered devotion, even if it’s in a different form?”

Wonwoo’s face fills with contempt, and that answers Junhui’s question.

“That was a long time ago, but that was still a wrong decision made. The High Priest doesn’t make the rules when it comes to collecting souls. I do.” 

“You didn’t give him any sign that you disagreed! So of course he let him go! This is why everyone confuses you for being kind and just, but you’re a fucking hypocrite. It seems as if you only play the god game when it suits you.”

“The ritual’s prayer specifically states that they give their life to me. If they have interpreted it wrong, they will pay in the afterlife. Weekly votives do not equal a lifetime of servitude. There will still be a debt to pay, in the end. My not having mentioned this to you simply means that you’re not entitled to my discussing every single concern with you.”

That hits him hard somehow, even though Wonwoo is right – that had happened before Junhui was even thought of. And in his arrogance, he’d thought he knew everything about Wonwoo. It had been so easy to forget that he’s just twenty years old, and Wonwoo has over a millennium on him.

Was it really wrong? To want to be your own person? Was it a crime worth death?

An icy wind has picked up now, and he’s so, so cold, both inside and out. He wants to go home, soak in a warm bath, or wrap himself in the folds of his blankets in the comfort of his bed.

“Junhui, you’re freezing.” Wonwoo ignores the argument for a moment as he notices the little shivers of his body that slowly turn violent. “Come here.” 

He reaches out a hand to him, but Junhui shakes his head, steps back.

“Well, just let me freeze to death, why don’t you,” he says obstinately through chattering teeth, blindly stepping backwards and deeper into the bitingly cold lake. “After all, I stole from you, tainted your statue, kissed another…surely crimes worthy of certain death? And now I’m conspiring with a fellow Keeper who wants to leave. I’m _sure_ it would be a yes in the High Priest’s books.”

Wonwoo’s mouth purses into an ugly line, and his eyes have changed to a full silver. He looks more ancient and terrifying like this, and Junhui doesn’t know what that means, because he’s never seen him in such a state before.

“You must think you’re so clever, mustn’t you? Running your mouth off all the time, openly defying any authority because you think you can get away with it. Classic Wen Junhui.”

“Fuck off, Wonwoo.” His lips are taking on an unhealthy blue, and Junhui’s head is buzzing with adrenaline as he tries to stave off submitting to the cold.

“Oh, I will. And you can find your way back to the temple yourself, since you’re so clever.” Wonwoo drops his hand and glides through the water to the edge of the lake, and his body moves gracefully as he lifts himself up and out of the water. His back looks so foreign when turned to him.

Junhui’s limbs are clamped in position, bones stiff, and he’s starting to realise that Wonwoo might just be serious about leaving him here, in the middle of a dense forest, miles away from the temple doors if he were to go on foot. “Wonwoo,” he begins weakly. “Wonwoo, wait.”

“Ah, so now the little human lover is feeling contrite?” 

The taunt in his voice dries up any plea for help. “No, I just wanted to add on that you’re an asshole, and I hope you melt in the rotting Underworld.”

His jaw tightens, and Junhui feels his fury through a further drop in temperature. Still, he doesn’t regret saying it, not when Wonwoo is being like this. 

“And I hope you freeze,” Wonwoo says as his parting statement, picking up his clothes and vanishing into a thick cloud of moonbeams.

***

Junhui manages to drag himself out of the lake, but his body can’t cooperate to do much more than that.

Well, fuck. Fuck Wonwoo and fuck the temple and fuck all the bad decisions he’s made so far in his very short life.

His arms burn when he tugs on his clothes. Junhui feels like he’s wading through molasses. His bones scream when he crawls to the base of a tree and lays his head on the wet grass. How had things even come to this? Maybe he really is too hot-headed for his own good. 

Junhui wants to hate Wonwoo, but he can’t, not fully.

But this doesn’t help his current dilemma; he’s at least half a day’s walk from home, and he doesn’t know how he can even begin to explain how he got out of the temple when the main gates were locked after dusk. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He bursts out laughing, and his body jerks as he shakes uncontrollably. When there’s nothing left in him, he flops onto his back, looking up at the stars dotting the sky.

He can pick out every single constellation there is to be seen, just like he’s been taught. His arms and legs are still numb, but he can feel some sensation returning. Maybe he’ll be able to move soon, but for now, he takes comfort in the soft, damp soil beneath his back, and the night sky.

It’s still hours away before dawn breaks over the horizon. For the first time, Junhui actually finds himself looking forward to the day. One of Jeonghan’s songs filters into his head at the thought, and he hums the sun god’s tune unwittingly.

“You have a nice voice. A pity you don’t want to train to be a priest.” 

Junhui startles, and his neck cricks at the sharp turn his head makes to look in the direction of the voice.

He watches as the intruder slips out from a thicket of cypress, almost floating on air as he comes into full view. He’s tall and slender, with long straight grey hair that hangs to his shoulders. His face is angular, like a cat’s, with eyes shaped much the same – slit-eyed and pulled upwards.

And ah, this is Jeonghan.

Junhui recognises his likeness from the hundreds of statues and busts he’s seen in his travels as a Keeper, and in books. He carries himself in the same way that Wonwoo does – effortlessly confident, an aura of gold framing his person. He supposes all gods are the same, in the end.

“Lord Jeonghan,” he says, adding his title where he usually drops it with Wonwoo. He bows his head.

“Junhui, a pleasure.”

“How are you here?” 

Jeonghan tilts his head to the side, a smile decorating his face. If memory serves, Jeonghan is rarely depicted without a smile. “That sounds a little rude. But I wouldn’t expect anything more civil from you.”

“You’ve been watching us,” Junhui says, and it’s not at all accusatory. He studies him for a beat longer. “You saw what just happened with Wonwoo and I.”

“Wonwoo is someone I take a particularly special interest in, so it’s natural that I eavesdrop from time to time.” He’s not even trying to hide it, which impresses him more than it annoys him.

Junhui is all too aware of their odd relationship. Every Keeper knows of the sun god’s favouritism towards the moon god, after all.

“Of course.” Junhui nods stiffly. Jeonghan is as unpredictable as any other god. He’s much beloved by his people, but Junhui has been apprised of his cunning disposition over the years. Well, Junhui can match that. Or he can try.

“It seems you need a lift home.” He steps towards Junhui, crouching to meet him at eye level.

“Are you volunteering?” Junhui asks with a slight snicker. He sees Jeonghan’s flicker of curiosity morph into something larger, and Junhui holds his breath, feels the next few seconds tick by loudly in his head before Jeonghan answers.

“Only if I get something in return.”

Junhui pounces.

“I…” He flits his eyes to the ground, feigning panic. “Wonwoo might not like that.”

“Of course he wouldn’t. But he left you here, didn’t he? And I don’t think he’s on his way back anytime soon.”

Junhui swallows, and part of it is genuine, because he had been taken aback at his cold departure. It had been too mean, even for Wonwoo.

“He left me here, because he’s right,” Junhui continues. “He can’t allow Keepers to just break their oaths and leave the temples so easily. It’s just that I – it’s where we can’t agree. And now my friends might…might.” The next word shrivels up on his tongue.

“Hmmm,” Jeonghan sits back on his haunches, and even hunched over like this, he is a sight to behold. His eyes gleam a bright honey gold, rimmed with a light green. He touches a hand to Junhui’s, and it’s warm, so warm. Junhui doesn’t pull away.

“Will Jisoo be punished in the Underworld?” He thinks back to Wonwoo’s words about his family owing a debt.

“The Hong boy?”

Junhui nods.

“It’s very likely. Breaking an oath is a serious offence. Hong Jisoo can’t escape from the fate that his father has carved out for them.” He says this horrifyingly matter-of-factly.

“Can you save him? Make sure he doesn’t end up in the Underworld?” Maybe he couldn’t save Soonyoung, because his soul was tied to his ancestors, but maybe he could save Jisoo, and Minghao, if it ever came to it.

“You ask for very complex things, Wen Junhui. What you ask of me must equal what you are able to give.”

Junhui had been ready for this, but it doesn’t make his proposition any less painful to say. But he sees his friends’ faces flash before his eyes, and he’s speaking before he knows it.

“I’ll become a priest-in-training. I’ll…I’ll serve you, for as long as my human life. And in return, Wonwoo.” He’s stopped by a stream of tears beginning to pour down his face. “Wonwoo won’t have me. So you will.”

A spark of amusement lights up his golden eyes, and he’s clearly tickled by Junhui’s sacrifice. “Do you really think that I don’t already have Wonwoo? We’re immortals – he’ll always sway and come back to me every now and then. You, on the other hand, are only temporary.”

“Then you shouldn’t have anything to worry about with my proposal. You gain two humans too, and Wonwoo will come back to you sooner with me out of the picture.” 

When Jeonghan’s expression becomes thoughtful, Junhui can feel that he’s won him over.

“Ah, you really are as smart as they say,” Jeonghan sighs wistfully. “You have yourself a deal, Keeper.” He leans forward to kiss him, grey hair brushing Junhui’s cheek as he does so. Something akin to sealing the deal.

Something sharp pierces his palm, and before he can let out a tiny scream, Jeonghan is lapping up the trickle of blood oozing out of the wound. “Recite the oath, Junhui, and then I’ll recite mine.”

Junhui is shivering when he opens his mouth, recalling the chant that will bind him to his new deity. When he’s done, Jeonghan slashes a tiny wound on his own palm for Junhui to lick, taking up his part of the chant. And then it’s done; Junhui can’t go back in time now.

“I’ll leave for your temple after Wonwoo’s feast day, so that no one suspects anything before then,” Junhui promises. 

Jeonghan conjures a gush of air to rise up in a tiny hurricane and crash over Junhui, and it’s warm – already he is taking care of his new charge. When he kisses Junhui for the second time, he can taste copper on his tongue.

The air is suddenly heady with scents of firewood, and jasmine, and vanilla – scents that reminded one of home. These are the tell-tale signs of a god’s presence when they use their powers on this plane.

Wonwoo’s smells like the fresh dew clinging to the plants he’s harvested in the temple gardens, and like the forest in the early morning when he’d wake up in Wonwoo’s arms. 

Jeonghan’s arms around his body feel cold and alien when he lifts him from the ground to take him home, and his heart already aches for Wonwoo.

***

As the sun peeks over the hills beyond the temple, the Keepers wake and gather for breakfast in the dining hall reserved for them.

The kitchen staff bustle about, carrying platters of fruit and bread to place on the long tables along with pitchers of honey and jugs of water.

“The food isn’t sweet,” the High Priest complains, to no one in particular. He sits at the head of the table, guzzling a goblet of wine to chase down the bland bread.

Junhui really loathes him. He can’t imagine how Wonwoo can approve of him as his High Priest, but he’s never spoken this gripe out loud to him. Even for Junhui, speaking his mind on this would definitely be going overboard. 

Food prepared today is expected to be simpler, because they were saving all the best ingredients for Wonwoo’s feast day in thirteen days. The cooks would be having their hands full prepping the more elaborate meals that would see more meat and fish on their tables. 

Junhui always looked forward to the food the most, because it was a luxury in their usually frugal lifestyles that came with their vocations as Keepers. It also meant he didn’t need to steal. 

The High Priest would have invited keepers of the eleven other higher gods and goddesses, and the next twelve days before that would be rife with games, dances, a grand banquet, finally culminating in the chanting of the sacred rites and the annual sacrifice.

The temple of Wonwoo necessitated this blood sacrifice on his feast day, in midsummer. 

Usually, a willing patron would give themself up. Junhui wonders who it’ll be this year.

He grabs a couple of figs and two slices of bread, pouring a drizzle of honey over the soft bread. The Keepers eat their morning meal in silence for the most part. They gobble down their breakfast in minutes, but Junhui pushes his food around his plate instead, his mind still preoccupied with last night’s events. 

Jeonghan had delivered him safely to his room, and so far, Wonwoo has yet to re-appear. If he knew anything about Wonwoo at all, it would be that Wonwoo would be too proud to see him, which meant that Junhui was safe from his sharp eyes.

He chews on a fig, but it’s like sand in his mouth.

He swallows it whole with a glass of water and stands to clear his plate.

“You okay?” Mingyu, another Keeper asks, concerned. He’ll be beginning his training to be a priest next year. 

“I’m fine. Just not really hungry.” He flashes a wobbly smile and turns to leave quickly. 

The next two weeks pass like this – lethargically. Junhui pours every bit of energy he has into the preparations and games until he’s too tired to think about Wonwoo or Jeonghan, or immortal bonds and debts.

At night, he huddles under the covers with Minghao, trying not to yearn for the light breaths behind his neck that would nudge him to sleep, or cool, pale fingers wrapped loosely but surely around his stomach, Junhui doesn’t dream a wink, and most of him is thankful for it.

***

Junhui hardly feels awake when Wonwoo’s feast day rolls around. The wee hours of the morning are spent sweeping the grounds or cleaning and dusting the various temples and inner sanctuaries – Junhui avoids Wonwoo’s temple completely, opting to take up jobs to decorate the gardens or setting up the tables for tonight’s banquet. 

Junhui hasn’t even wanted to try to find out who the sacrifice would be today. It’s always kept under wraps right up until the evening of, but Junhui had managed to find out who last year. This year he really hasn’t had any inclination to.

Today’s main festivities will take place in one of the larger inner sanctuaries, a large grand hall underground, directly beneath Wonwoo’s temple. While one could enter directly from a flight of stairs from Wonwoo’s temple, both the temple residents and guests would instead pass through an outer passage from one of the smaller gardens. It was so that his temple would remain purified until after the sacrifice.

“Hui, wanna help me carry these robes and masks to the sanctuary?” Minghao juggles two heavy wicker baskets in his arms, with an unlit kerosene lantern hanging off his right arm.

“Sure.” He takes one basket off his hands and starts off toward the poppy garden. He glances down at the ceremonial garb in the basket – pure white cotton robes that would float about the wearer, like the ripples of moonlight, and black bird-like masks with a beak, to pay homage to the raven, a symbol of death.

Junhui, like everyone else, would have to put these on too, before the ceremony proper.

The sanctuary is outfitted in gold all over, a stark contrast to the muted white tones that coloured every other structure above ground. Gilded pillars, a ring of marbled white seats like an amphitheatre. A mural of the twelve higher gods and goddesses covers one wall, its paints still bright and alive from years of proper care. Wonwoo is painted devastatingly handsome here too, regal in a black woollen cloak, a single white poppy gripped in his hand as he stands next to Jeonghan.

At the centre stands another statue of Wonwoo adorned with a poppy wreath and a raven perched on his left shoulder. It’s only a statue, but Junhui is still rendered breathless by his beauty, so artfully captured here. His eyes trace his features, noting the sharp angles of his eyes, nose, mouth, chin.

“Junhui?” Minghao comes up next to him, having deposited the basket at the foot of one of the circular steps. “That’s Wonwoo,” he says dryly, joining Junhui in looking up at Wonwoo too.

Junhui laughs. “I know that. Why’re you saying it like I don’t?”

“Because you’re looking at the statue like it’s the first time you’re looking at it,” he quips as he drops the basket unceremoniously to the ground, rolling his shoulders. “Gosh, these are heavy.”

Junhui doesn’t answer, just goes to place his own basket down gently, feeling how the soft material of the robes slips like silk between his fingers. His heart lifts in sudden excitement at the thought of discarding his tatty brown ones for these later. 

He walks to the wall – also gilded a bright gold – pulling the lit torch that’s hanging on the columns. He circles the room, lighting all the fire-pits in the sanctuary until orange and gold dance on the walls. It’s almost like this room was made for the sun god instead of the moon god.

“I think that’s it. Shall we go up to see where else we can help?” Junhui asks.

“Yeah.” Minghao sidles up next to him, eyes darting around a bit, and then he’s planting a quick kiss on Junhui’s lips.

Junhui is too surprised to kiss back or move really, but Minghao is already pulling back, expression a little shy. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he confesses.

Junhui’s heart softens, and he puts on a gentle smile, ruffles his hair. He fights the urge to look at Wonwoo’s statue, even though the statue is turned away from them anyway. “Come on, let’s go.” 

When they emerge from the sanctuary, they go their separate ways; they’re needed in different places: Junhui to the main gate to welcome the patrons and guests, and Minghao to the kitchens to oversee the grand feast.

At twilight, the guests are ushered into the hall to dine, but Junhui sits out. His appetite is still yet to come back to him, and he really doesn’t think that he can muster up the energy for small talk. All he wants is to curl up in bed and hide from the world. 

The gardens are his second-favourite place to go next to Wonwoo’s temple, so that’s where he ends up. This one has wild clumps of daisies, and he’s careful to not crush them in his search for an empty patch to lie down on. 

He closes his eyes, breathing in lungfuls of clean air. It’ll be another two more hours before the final ritual – the sacrifice – so he has time to himself, to rest and wallow in his decision and the trek to Jeonghan’s temple tomorrow. 

He brushes a fingertip to one lone daisy. _Wonwoo_ , he thinks, but daren’t utter his name out loud for fear of summoning him. The want for his warm body against his own wells up, but he quashes it just as quickly. He doesn’t know what he would say to him now. He doesn’t think he can even say any form of goodbye without breaking down or revealing his betrayal. He plucks the daisy off its stem, crushing the petals between his fingers. _Gods, what have I done?_

_No turning back now, Wen Junhui_ , he says to himself. _You dug this hole, and you have to live in it now._

 _Okay. I can do this. For Jisoo. For Minghao. Maybe even for Soonyoung._

He holds the dead flower in his hand the whole time, waiting for the echoes of laughter to die down and the scraping of chairs against the concrete ground – a signal that the time had come for the last piece of the celebrations. 

Junhui rises, dusting the remains of the flower off, a little guilty at having ended its life through sheer impulsiveness. He moves quickly to the entrance in the poppy garden to stand sentinel, readying himself to receive their guests with an easy, winning smile. 

It takes about a quarter of an hour for the full party to bustle in, and then another ten minutes more of mumblings and tiny chattering in groups until both patrons and guests alike simmer into a hush, and then silence. 

Each person wears the long white robes, masks pulled tightly around their heads. Junhui finds it hard to actually make out which face belongs to his fellow Keepers and which to a stranger. But it’s supposed to be that way for tonight. Solidarity and strength in anonymity. 

A gong sounds, and a deep hum reverberates off the walls. The air vibrates with the sound and the thrill of the next part. 

The double-doors open, and The High Priest strides in, two priestesses following behind with the patron to be sacrificed. Only the patron is masked, and try as he might, Junhui can’t make out who they are. Next to him, Minghao is a ball of anxiety, bouncing his knee up and down, fingers crisscrossed between each other. Junhui feels the same way – he’s never liked this part either. 

Even though he knows this is an offering for Wonwoo, and that this offering will strengthen him, he still hates how sick he feels. 

_Gods, please be someone I don’t know. Please please please._

The High Priest raises his hand into a fist, silence unfolding. Then the priestesses untie the string to the patron’s mask, and it falls to the ground with a quiet thump. 

The patron looks up, and a collective gasp seizes the crowd. 

It’s Soonyoung. 

“No!” Junhui finds himself shouting. “No!” Luckily for him, it gets lost in the murmurs and the beginnings of the High Priest reading out the opening verses of the ritual from his scroll. 

_“Sooner or later_ ,” he remembers Wonwoo saying about Soonyoung’s family. He supposes Soonyoung might have decided to take matters into his own hands, instead of waiting for Wonwoo’s reapers to come to claim him. Still. _Still._

He looks at Soonyoung, and their eyes meet from across the room. There’s both sadness and resignation in there, nothing more. Junhui’s lip wobbles as he tries to smile, and Soonyoung is quick to smile back. Oh, Soonyoung. 

And this is it, really, that does it for Junhui. 

Wonwoo’s feast day necessitated a blood sacrifice, and Junhui would make sure that he would deliver.

He rips off his mask and leaps down the giant steps, down down down until he hits the bottom of the stairs hard. His feet feel the shock of the land, but he’s already moving toward the centre, where the sacrificial party stands, where Wonwoo’s statue stands. 

He knocks Soonyoung away, taking his place in front of the High Priest. “Wen Junhui, what in the gods are you doing!” He screeches into Junhui’s face, hands wringing the scroll as he tries to compose himself in front of the spectators.

“I’m taking his place,” he answers resolutely. “You’ll not have him.”

“This isn’t for you to decide, boy,” he growls. “He was chosen by the heavens. Now get out of the way and stop before you dishonour Lord Wonwoo and our temple.”

“Bullshit!” He shouts. “That’s fucking bullshit and you know it. Wonwoo doesn’t ever decree who he wants. It’s you assholes who decide all on your own.”

“You dare spout treason within these holy walls?” 

“It’s you who’s guilty of treason, you fucker. If I call Wonwoo down here, let’s see who’s right and who’s wrong.”

His face twists into fear, but it rearranges itself back into his usual pompous expression that Junhui hates to the core. “Wonwoo has not graced us with his presence in nearly a thousand years. I’d like to see a mere Keeper try.”

Junhui looks at Soonyoung again. Then he looks at Minghao, who’s rooted to the spot, eyes wide open and fearful behind his mask. He mouths an apology to him and tries to say _it’s okay, I’m sorry, you’ll be strong_ in a single smile. 

No more time. One split-second decision, and he only has this element of surprise for a few moments more before the guards or other Keepers converge on him. 

He grabs the scroll from the High Priest’s pudgy hands, snatching the ceremonial dagger from the priestess, and begins to chant. 

He’s watched this process enough times to have an idea of when to draw blood. He hopes that his connection with Wonwoo makes up for his lack of knowledge or expertise here. He slashes the knife across his upper arm, chanting through gritted teeth, keeping up the ritual. 

The High Priest shrieks, lunging for him, but Junhui dodges agilely out of the way and up the stairs. 

“Someone grab him!” He cries, and Junhui chants faster and louder, wondering whether Wonwoo truly doesn’t give a fuck about him anymore. 

He cuts his shoulder, almost too close to his neck, and this one slides a little too deep. Tears prick at his eyes but he solders on. Then he gets to the next part of the chant. Fuck. It’s the throat next. 

_Okay, okay, you can do this, you’ve got this, Junhui. You’re saving Soonyoung. Gods I must be an idiot, saving him anyway when his soul is already promised to Wonwoo._

But maybe it’s a matter of principle, to show the uppity priests and that selfish bastard Wonwoo that people like Soonyoung didn’t deserve to die because of some mistake their ancestors made. Something like a giant _fuck you_ to them. 

Junhui raises the dagger to his throat, the silver gleaming against his skin. The metal is cold. Junhui takes a deep breath and tightens his grip on the hilt. 

The dagger flies out of his grip, and the scroll burns into cinders in his hands. He yelps, releasing the thin papers before the flames can lick his skin. 

The walls rumble with a deep groan, the fires in the pits roaring and shooting up to the ceiling. The people are in complete disarray, some shouting to run, others sitting stock-still in the seats, a mass of confusion by the overturning of the entire ritual. 

A white fog blankets Wonwoo’s statue, and then it becomes icy cold. Junhui holds his breath, observing the fog twisting and rippling until it lifts, unveiling Wonwoo in the flesh – a black chiton draped about him, and barefoot. Black hair shimmering in the firelight, eyes blown a full silver. 

Gods, it’s been thirteen days since he set eyes on him, and the need to touch him and be near him is so, so strong. 

“Lord Wonwoo,” the High Priest breathes in wonder, and the crowd stirs and titters at their divine luck in seeing him in human form – the first time in more than eight hundred years. The High Priest prostrates before him, and the rest follow suit immediately, whispering their platitudes, leaving Junhui the only one left standing. 

“You’re here,” Junhui whispers, everything else he’s dreamt of saying to him wedged in his throat. 

“Your stubbornness will really be the death of you,” Wonwoo says, and he raises his arm towards Junhui, a gush of air rising up to envelop him. It’s warm. 

“Come here.” It’s a command, but it’s also a plea. And it’s been so long since he’s looked at him. 

Junhui lets the bout of wind lift and carry him to where Wonwoo stands. He doesn’t care that the rest of the people are looking on, that the High Priest has his jaw slackened in bewilderment, wracking his head to decipher their relationship. 

“I’m only stubborn because you’re selfish,” Junhui dares to say, lifting his chin in defiance. 

“So you said, two weeks ago.” 

“And it seems you haven’t changed. You were going to let Soonyoung sacrifice himself!”

“And I told you that it would happen sooner or later. You have no right or interfere in this ritual, or when he lives or dies. His soul belongs to me.”

Junhui clenches his jaw. “So what the fuck does it matter to you then, who dies during this ritual? You’re going to get his soul anyway. As long as someone is sacrificed tonight and the rites are read, it counts, doesn’t it? So why the fuck did you interfere?”

“Junhui,” he begins, eyes now a coal-black, like he's burning with pure fiery anger. “Don’t.”

“No, really. I’d like to know. Why stop me?”

“You know why.” Wonwoo takes a step toward him, hands clawed as he reaches for Junhui.

“No, I don’t think I do, so do enlighten me.”

“Junhui, you’re bleeding out. We can talk about this later, when you’re –”

“No.” Junhui stands his ground. He hasn’t lost that much blood – yet. He can still hold himself up. 

Wonwoo draws himself to full height. “Wen Junhui, as my Keeper, I order you to cease this foolishness. Now, come.”

“He’s not yours.” A new voice enters the fray, and it’s airy, almost a tinkling sound. 

Wonwoo’s eyes darken considerably, and his posture stiffens. 

“Jeonghan.” His hands curl into fists by his sides. 

Oh shit. Junhui’d forgotten all about Jeonghan in his wild expedition to save Soonyoung. 

The sun god materialises next to Junhui, brushing a lone finger across his cheek.

“Junhui, ah, Junhui, you swore to serve me, but you were going to kill yourself before that could even happen. Very stupid, to break a contract before it has even begun. Unless you changed your mind about saving Jisoo?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Wonwoo looks to Junhui. He glances away, back at Jeonghan. 

“I haven’t,” he whispers. “I just. I just needed to save Soonyoung too.”

“Junhui, answer me!” Wonwoo yells, and Junhui flinches. 

He raises his eyes just a little, enough to see Wonwoo seething, but there’s also hurt and confusion there, and gods, Junhui just wants to hold him, kiss him, just lose himself in all of him. But he can’t. 

He can’t. There are more people who need him right now, and Junhui knows the blistering choice he has to make. 

“I’m Jeonghan’s Keeper now,” his voice is croaky as his betrayal washes over Wonwoo’s ears. “I made a deal with him, to save my friends, because you couldn’t. Wouldn’t.”

“Junhui, as the god of death, I have to collect their souls. You know that!”

“Do you?” Jeonghan drawls. “Darling, I’m sure there was no need to allow this Kwon boy to sacrifice himself. You could have indicated for someone else to be chosen. Let’s not lie to our beloved Junhui, hmm?” When he grins, his mouth and eyes curl upwards, like this is just another game between them. Perhaps it is.

“Shut up. This isn’t happening. Junhui is _mine_.”

“Not anymore. His new contract overrides yours. He has recited the prayers, exchanged the blood.”

Wonwoo’s face falls into desolation. 

“Junhui,” Wonwoo says hoarsely. “Don’t you know what happens when you break a contract with a god? Your soul...it gets broken in half.”

“What?” Junhui’s face drains of colour. His head whips to Jeonghan, who's still smiling, like the cat that got the cream. 

“Ah yes, that was a minor thing I missed out. Whoopsy daisy. But all’s good, Junhui dear. If you uphold your end of the bargain, your soul will be pieced together.” He seems to slither towards Junhui, cupping his jaw gently. “You just need to serve me for as many lifetimes as the number of people I save for you. Then, you’ll be free. That, I promise you.”

“That’s two lifetimes!” Wonwoo smacks Jeonghan’s hand off him, twisting his equally pale hand painfully in his grip and closing a hand around his throat. “You fucking snake.”

Junhui’s heard about the half-souls – how they were not really human, not really immortal, but not a god. Just a ghost, floating somewhere in-between. A mark followed them everywhere they went, like a black aura surrounding them, a beacon of their curse.

Jeonghan’s white lie had come as a shock, but he doesn’t really feel any sort of panic. It’s more like a gentle wave of relief that flutters over him, now that he knows he has a purpose, and that his friends will be safe. So. 

“Three,” he corrects, voice ringing clear in the silence of the sanctuary. “It’s three. Jisoo, Soonyoung, and Minghao.” He can’t trust that Minghao will be kept safe from Wonwoo’s rage and pettiness now that he won’t be at this temple to protect him anymore. 

Jeonghan’s eyes light up again and he barks out a laugh – high-pitched and melodic, like a harp. 

“Well, there you have it. Technically, I’d require something a bit more for Soonyoung, seeing as his soul is tied to his ancestors. But, I’ll give you a discount because it’s you.” 

He wrestles his arm free from Wonwoo, whipping back to slide a possessive arm around Junhui from behind. “Don’t sulk so, Wonwoo, darling. You brought this upon yourself. You’ll come visit me soon though, won’t you?”

Junhui bites his lip and looks at Wonwoo. His face is flushed red with shock, eyes a little wet with anger. He knows that a current of fury is still boiling under his skin, and that more than anything, more than grief or resignation, he’s about to lash out to rain down destruction. 

“Wonwoo,” he takes quick steps towards him, taking his hand in his, feeling emboldened when Wonwoo doesn’t snatch his hand back. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so, sorry. But I have to do this, because I can’t just let them die when they haven’t done anything wrong. It’s not right. I hope...I hope you know that.”

 _Please forgive me_ , he thinks, but he doesn’t dare to say it out loud, doesn’t think he’s worthy of making such a request. 

“You aren’t playing fucking fair,” Wonwoo breathes out. His eyes are so sad, and Junhui wonders if he’d always felt some kind of sadness about his godliness and Junhui just never saw it. “I’m the god of death, Junhui, it is my divine power to oversee the claiming of their souls.”

Junhui shakes his head slightly, sweeps a thumb over his cheek, trying to count how many silver stars there are in his eyes, trying to memorise every bit of him before they part. 

“You _are_ the god of death, but that doesn’t mean you need to be passive, or unjust. You have the power to undo Soonyoung’s curse, you have the power to decide your human mouthpiece, to decide what rules this temple follows. You. But you’ve never...and I can’t just stand here and watch you continue like this.” He wrings his hands into themselves, trying but probably failing at making Wonwoo _see_.

“Junhui...” He covers Junhui’s hand with his own. Begging him for...for what, he doesn’t know. For everything to return to how it was. For Junhui to just keep on loving him in secret, for souls to be treated frivolously.

But Junhui will be damned if he has to just sit there like a helpless servant any longer.

“I love you,” he whispers, and he stands on tiptoes to kiss Wonwoo on the mouth. “I love you, so much. I’ll love you, after three lifetimes. But I love my friends too. I hope you...I hope you understand.”

Wonwoo just looks at him for a long moment. Those enchanting deep black eyes with a sparkle of silver, mischief long gone. Eyes that he loves very, very much.

Then he’s pulling Junhui closer with an arm around his waist, drawing him in for another kiss, this one deeper, more desperate, as if to pour everything that he can’t put into words. Junhui lets out a tiny sob, clutching the front of his clothes, pulling at it with his fingers. 

He drops his hand, moves to Jeonghan’s side. He reaches out a hand in the direction of Minghao, where he’s still standing on the upper rings, an audience to his lies and betrayal. 

“Hao?” He hopes that he doesn’t lose him. He doesn’t think he can bear to lose one more precious person tonight. 

Every second that passes in waiting is deafening. But Minghao is finally untying his mask and pulling off his robes, making his way shakily down the wide steps to Junhui’s side. “I’m...I’m with you,” he whispers, head bent to the floor, and if it wasn’t so quiet, Junhui would have missed it. 

He intertwines their fingers, giving it a firm squeeze, and looks up at Soonyoung, who is equally shaken but has also managed to muster his wits about him to come stand by Jeonghan’s side, quick to understand that his soul dangled between both gods.

They’re ready. 

“Wonwoo,” Jeonghan says, and this time his voice is soft, and the way he says his name speaks of their thousands of years of shared memories and adventures that Junhui will never fully know. 

“This isn’t the end. You’ll still see Junhui, I promise. I wouldn’t be so awful as to disallow that. But for now, we must take our leave.” To get Jisoo, Junhui thinks. “Goodbye, darling.”

Tendrils of gold manifest from above them out of thin air, threading down to wrap around the four of them. He smells jasmine and vanilla, and Junhui supposes he’ll have to get used to this, instead of dew and poppy.

The golden threads weave about their bodies, and the crowd gasps in awe. Junhui lets himself have one last look at Wonwoo. A white mist has clouded over his person; he’s leaving too, blood sacrifice and feast day be damned. 

He keeps his gaze locked on Wonwoo, and Wonwoo’s on his, both just regarding each other plainly, no more secrets, no more resentment, or anger or disappointment. Just them, souls bared to each other. Junhui almost mouths something back, his lips parting to say one more thing, but Wonwoo tips his head forward just a bit, and then the fog gathers him up into a lonely embrace.

***

To be protected by a god is something like having their souls pulled out of the normal realms of the mortal life-and-death cycle that the universe has planned. Each of them had sworn their souls to Jeonghan – something a bit different from the Keepers’ bond, something that was much deeper and profound.

In essence, Jisoo, Soonyoung, and Minghao are a bit like Junhui now – escaping mortality, forever cheating the reaper’s scythe. The only difference is that Junhui doesn’t have his soul intact. 

A full century has passed, and a bit of Junhui is glad to have three of them for his companions, however unlikely a foursome they make. It’s the height of summer, and the sun streaks hot, golden rays onto them as they lie on the fields in a Grecian countryside – in Athens.

The air is crisp and tepid, and Junhui actually loves how he gets to be outdoors. It’s funny, how often he’s still brought back to when he only knew the four walls of the temple, when he’s been free from this for a hundred years. 

Jisoo rolls onto Minghao, nuzzling his head onto his stomach as his makeshift pillow. Minghao laughs and strokes his hair in soothing motions, eyes soft and adoring as he looks at him. Junhui’s glad that they’ve grown close, that Minghao has people other than Junhui to call family now.

Soonyoung sits a little ways off, aloof and quiet, a disposition that Junhui and the others have come to know as common for him. A part of Junhui knows that he didn’t really want this life, the compulsion to go with Jeonghan that night lost after a very short time. Junhui supposes he hadn’t given any of them a choice, in the end. He wonders how much they resent him for this life, these lives, with only each other and Jeonghan for company. 

He watches as Soonyoung crafts a necklace of daisies, one chain already looped around his own neck. They’re white, with dark yellow pistils. It reminds Junhui of the ones in Wonwoo’s garden, so many thousands of moons ago, when he’d lay down among their short stems, Wonwoo sometimes joining him if they thought no one would see them. Sometimes it had been in the poppy gardens, but Junhui preferred the daisies because they were scentless, and so most nights it had been the latter he would find himself in.

He’s not seen Wonwoo since that night, as if he was actively avoiding their little group. But then again, would he actually want to see him, after all that Junhui had done to him? 

Half of Junhui is relieved about not seeing Wonwoo, and the other half…yearns.

Junhui lifts himself from the tufts of grass, brushing stray grass and granules of mud and sand off his clothes. He casts a quick smile at Minghao but doesn’t say where he’s going, not wanting to break the silence or have to explain himself. The others have picked up his bouts of moodiness or need to be left to his own devices from time to time after a century of travelling together.

He knows that there’s a little lake in the forest beyond these fields – Jeonghan had told him. It made sense that he knew how often he and Wonwoo would visit that lake near their temple. 

He strolls through the pathway between rows of towering trees, thick leaves forming a canopy overhead, a shield from the sapping afternoon sun. It’s cool here, and he feels a calm settle over him when he breathes in the smell of dew and sap, can practically taste it on his tongue. 

It’s another half an hour of walking until he locates the lake, following the sounds of water rushing through a narrow stream until the clear blue waters come into view.

He dips his toe in to gauge the temperature. Lukewarm. Good.

Junhui tugs off all his clothes, folding them into a neat pile by the bank. Then he’s sinking into the water, a small sigh leaving his lips as he tips his head back to rest it against the edge, closing his eyes. The water laps up and over his body, and he feels for the first time in a long while, a sense of peacefulness wash over. 

Maybe it’s the water, and the forest. 

The leaves on the trees shake, and at first Junhui thinks it’s the wind billowing. But then they rustle, and take up a low whisper, and oh.

The light padding of feet, the wind breathing warmth. 

“Jeonghan,” he murmurs, opening his eyes as he feels someone slipping in beside him.

“Hi, Junhui. Liking Greece, I see?”

“Mmm.” Junhui sloshes a bit of water about his body, not in the least bit embarrassed that Jeonghan is also naked next to him, grey hair now worn much shorter to blend in with the new age. “Thank you for telling me about this place.”

“Of course.” He leans his head on Junhui’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to his neck.

They sit side-by-side in companionable silence, letting the sound of the water drown out their thoughts.

“He’s always watching us, you know. Watching you,” Jeonghan says quietly.

Junhui hadn’t really doubted this.

“I know.”

“He misses you. He’s trying.”

Junhui wants to believe this. Imagines Wonwoo trying to change, for him. Drops the image because it hurts, because he was just a human, a Keeper who was one of thousands, and now a broken one, and Wonwoo is…Wonwoo is someone who belongs in the heavens.

“Jeonghan, I…”

“Do you want to see him?”

 _Yes_. “I don’t know.” _Yes, gods, yes._

“Junhui.” Jeonghan looks at him knowingly, so he gives up.

“I do want to see him. But not. Not right now. He needs to know that there are things he needs to work on and that I’m not just going to give in and feel guilty just because he misses me, or because he’s trying.”

Jeonghan moves to tangle his fingers in Junhui’s, stroking the back of his hand softly. Jeonghan has always been so gentle with him. “You do know that it’s been a hundred years, right? It’s not a short time, Junhui. Many things have changed. He’s changed. You’ve changed. If you want to see him, you’re free to.”

“Jeonghan, please, stop.” He begs, squeezing their interlaced fingers tightly. 

Jeonghan gives his fingers another squeeze, and then releases them to card a hand through his hair. He's quiet when he moves, so much so that Junhui doesn't realise that he's taken off the daisy necklace from around his neck to place over Junhui’s instead until it's already resting on his shoulders, the chain a little damp from its time in the water. Then he’s gone, leaving Junhui to himself once more, taking the warmth with him. 

Junhui shivers when the next draft of wind that blows past isn’t warm anymore. He sinks deeper into the water, hoping to ward it off. The daisies lift and float about around his neck. They’ll break off soon, because it’s too soaked to keep its form. 

He strokes one damp petal, watching how a drop of water slips from it and into the lake. “I miss you,” he says, out loud, finally. He wonders whether the Underworld has a garden, and what kind of flowers would grow there if so. He’d always wanted to visit it, but Wonwoo had been adamant that the Underworld was only for souls of those who were dead. 

He chuckles, because that’s what he was now, wasn’t he? More or less dead. 

“One down, two more to go,” he whispers. He looks up into the sky through a tiny gap in the branches overhead, and the way they bracket the light blue sky makes it look like a perfect full moon. 

He hums a song under his breath, one that the Keepers liked to sing when worshipping the beauty of the moon god, a crown of poppy atop his head, black hair curling in soft waves. 

The daisy chain finally breaks apart in his fingers, and when he takes a breath to hum the next verse, it’s the comforting scent of fresh dew that fills his nose.

**Author's Note:**

> If you read all the way to the end – thank you! I loved writing this prompt, and it was honestly a bit challenging because I kind of rewrote it after my first draft, so hope I did it justice...
> 
> Just one note on what a _cella_ is: a section enclosed by walls that holds the statue of the god to which the temple is dedicated. (ref is probably from wiki or something, can't remember anymore whoops.)
> 
> Come talk to me in the comments or find me on Twitter (after reveals ahahaha)


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